Read The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl Online
Authors: Nancy Martin
The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl (14 page)
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“That explains why the phone is in her name,” Carly said aloud.
Bert had finished speaking with Alexis and hung up the receiver. “What about the phone?”
Carly turned around, breathing raggedly. “I’ve been had, Bert.”
He grinned. “Did you enjoy it?”
“That’s not what I—Oh, hell! I can’t think!” She gripped her head and began to pace the office carpet. “I don’t know what’s going on!”
“Well, Alexis has some great photographs for us, and I think the next calendar’s going to be a success.” Bert settled on the edge of his desk. “You got a vacation, some great sex and everyone’s happy. What else matters?”
“You don’t understand!” Carly cried.
“What’s not to understand? All’s nght with the world, as far as I can see.”
“But I was falling in love with him!” Carly cried. “And he was lying to me! The whole time, he was lying.”
“About what, exactly?”
“Everything!”
“Really everything?” Bert pressed affectionately. “Or only a few things?”
Carly shook her head wildly. “I don’t know.”
“About falling in love with you?”
“He never said he was,” she replied, fighting hard to keep her voice steady. “If he had, then I probably would hate him right now.”
“Then it’s a good thing he didn’t tell you how he was feeling. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Ah,” said Bert, nodding. “That’s a problem.”
“He’s going to show up, though,” Carly said with certainty. She began to pull herself together firmly. “And when he does get here...he’d better be prepared!”
Henry took the last flight into Los Angeles and arrived in the city at six in the morning. The airport was practically deserted at that hour, except for a few noisy travelers headed home from Las Vegas. Henry enjoyed their high spirits, and he found himself smiling as he arrived at the rental car counter. A car was easily procured, and he headed for the nearest hotel to sleep and clean up.
Midafternoon, he telephoned Twilight Calendars and reached Carly at last. The impact of hearing her voice again caused his heart to accelerate.
“Hi,” she said, sounding breathless as she came on the line. “Where are you?”
“In L.A. At the Fairfax. I have a meeting in town at four. I’ll be finished by seven.”
“What kind of meeting? Are you buying more cows for the old homestead?” Her tone was teasing.
“Not exactly. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Carly—”
“Great!” Her voice was happy—almost jaunty. “There’s a place that’s just perfect for a cowpoke like you only a short drive from that hotel. I’ll come for you at the Fairfax at seven. And Hank?”
“Yes?”
“Wear your spurs.”
She laughed and cradled the phone before he could make a comeback, so Henry hung up feeling odd. Spurs?
At four, he met the woman who would be representing him in negotiations with the Los Angeles paper. They spoke briefly, then presented themselves at the headquarters of one of the nation’s largest and most widely circulated newspapers. They were whisked into a posh suite and offered several kinds of bottled water before sitting down to talk turkey with the committee that hoped to franchise the Henry Fowler column.
Henry listened to their pitch, then tossed out the ideas that had been percolating in his head. Clearly, he described his plan for combining adventure and recreation with his particular critical opinions. At first, they couldn’t grasp his concept at all.
Then the marketing manager snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Indiana Jones!”
“No, no—”
One of the editors chimed in. “Hey, great idea!”
“That’s not exactly what I meant Let me try explaining it this way—”
“We could photograph you in a fedora and put it on every bus in every city up and down the coast!”
“Hold on—”
“We’ll give you a generous travel budget.”
They all chimed in enthusiastically.
“And a salary with complete benefits and four weeks’ vacation. Plus our top-notch retirement plan, investment opportunities and tickets to the Academy Awards!”
Henry sank back in his seat and looked over at Margie Williams, his agent. She nodded and leaned forward to take charge of the meeting. “First of all, Henry wants complete authority over any marketing plans you may devise. As for salary...”
Henry listened while Margie outlined the terms under which he would agree to write for the newspaper syndicate. She was calm and tough, asking for more than Henry would have if left to his own devices. He was surprised when all the terms were accepted.
“Well, then,” said Margie, turning to Henry. “Then it’s up to Mr. Fowler. What do you say, Henry?”
He did not hesitate. “I’ll think about everything overnight and get back to you tomorrow..”
Everyone around the table seemed pleased. Henry left Margie and walked back to his hotel in the late-afternoon heat, his head swimming with the possibilities. In his heart he knew he wanted the new job. Reorganizing his life was the tricky part.
His home and friends were in Seattle, but he didn’t have to live there if something better turned up. Now he had the whole West Coast to roam. From Santa Fe to Vancouver, he could go wherever he pleased. Perhaps it was time to renew his pilot’s license, he thought with pleasure. There was no need to tie himself to the condo in Seattle anymore.
He hadn’t expected his life to change so much, but suddenly Henry felt as if he were standing at the top of a very long and exciting ski slope.
He wanted to share the great news and bought flowers for Carly in the hotel boutique. He needed her opinion and longed to hear her thoughts. More than anything, he wanted to be with Carly again.
Suddenly he heard her voice behind him in the lobby. Hank turned around, ready to call her name.
It was Carly, all right. But for an instant, Hank didn’t recognize her. She strode into the lobby wearing a ridiculous cowboy getup complete with rhinestones on her shirt and fringe on her buckskin shirt. She wore snakeskin boots on her feet and a cocky white Stetson-style hat atop her blond hair. Her earrings were gold pistols, and from her shoulder swung a bag in the shape of a miniature Spanish saddle. Dolly Parton never looked half so silly.
“C—Carly?”
She swung around and laughed. “Howdy, Hank! How are you, sugar pie?”
Hank staggered backward as she flung her arms around his neck and planted a huge, red-lipsticked kiss on his mouth. Someone laughed from the direction of the reception desk. He almost dropped the flowers he was holding in one hand, but his other arm automatically went around her slim body.
She feels like Carly,
he thought dimly.
She just doesn’t look like her.
he thought dimly.
She just doesn’t look like her.
Carly pulled back and looked up at him with devilment sparkling in her blue eyes. “What’s the matter, Hank? You look surprised to see me.”
Almost too astonished to speak, he asked, “What in the world is going on?”
“Why, I’m taking you out on the town, that’s all. C’mon! The limo’s waiting.”
“Limo?” Hank’s head spun in confusion.
Laughing, Carly dragged him by the hand until they were outside the hotel. There, parked at the end of the canopy, stood the most ridiculous limousine Hank had ever seen in his life. It was painted white with big brown cow spots. The roof had been replaced by a gigantic cowboy hat, and an enormous rack of horns from a steer. The driver blew the horn, and the air was torn by the bellow of an enraged bull.
The hotel doorman looked as if a real cow had suddenly made an unsanitary deposit on the immaculate carpet.
“What do you think?” Carly asked. “Does it make you feel like home?”
Hank recovered enough poise to say, “I think I’m catching on now. Carly, if this is your way of—”
“My way of making you feel welcome in Los Angeles. It is, sugar pie. Now, hop in. I’ve got another surprise in store for you!”
Hank couldn’t resist her and allowed Carly to drag him into the back seat of the long car. Once the door was closed, he remembered the flowers and handed them into her lap.
“Here,” he said. “I know these are a small apology for everything I’ve done, but—”
“Roses! Aren’t they beautiful.” Carly held the fragrant bouquet to her nose and managed to knock off her cowboy hat “Oops. I can’t lose this, can I?”
Hank took the hat from her hand and tossed it on the opposite seat as the limousine began to move. He decided to make his move, too, and wound his arms around Carly. Pressing her back into the cushions, he swooped in to kiss her.
Carly didn’t resist, but wrapped her arms around his neck. She met the coming kiss eagerly, her lips full of fire.
Any worries Hank entertained that Carly might be truly angry with him evaporated with that kiss. She was still Carly—the woman who had cried and laughed in his arms, made steamy love with him and watched Hank make a fool of himself back in South Dakota. He thought he could feel her heart tremble beneath all those rhinestones, and when he touched her knee with his fingertips, he absorbed her quiver.
When he withdrew only far enough to press softer kisses against her earlobe, Hank whispered, “I’ve missed you. It feels like we’ve been apart for ages.”
“I’m glad you came,” Carly whispered back, then slid her unsteady fingers into his hair to draw Hank’s lips to her own again.
Hank savored the taste of her, the scent of her skin, the silky texture of her hair. She felt exciting in his arms, full of promise and surprises.
“Carly, where are we going?”
Her eyes sparkled up at him. “The perfect place for dinner.”
“Can I convince you to turn this crazy limo around and go back to my hotel?”
“And miss all the fun I have planned for you? Not on your neckerchief, sweetie. Speakmg of neckerchiefs, where is yours?” She tugged at the collar of his cashmere shirt, feigning surprise at finding him dressed so differently. “And your boots? And those nice dusty jeans?”
“I know I’ve got some explaining to do.”
Carly touched his lips with her forefinger. “Not until after we’ve painted the town, Hank. Ready? Here’s where we’ll work up our appetites.”
Hank looked out the car window and found that the driver had brought them to a country-western bar complete with a cactus and a horse tied up out front.
The horse was real, too. It stood placidly in front of a hitching post. The name of the bar flashed in neon, “Monty’s Midnight Saloon.”
Hank said, “Oh, no.”
Laughing, Carly climbed over him and popped open the car door. “Let’s go, cowboy! I want you to show all these city slickers some of your fancy broncobusting.”
Hank groaned. “Carly, what have you done?”
She skipped up the sidewalk to the door of the bar and patted the nose of the tied horse. “This sweetheart reminds me of Laverne, don’t you think?”
Without waiting for his response, she tipped her hat at the establishment’s bouncer, who was dressed like a rodeo rider except that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His arms bulged with muscles, and his hair was perfectly blown dry. The young man towered over Hank and looked as if he might outweigh both Carly and Hank put together.
“Hi, Delbert,” Carly said gaily. “Did you save us some space on the dance floor?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of room inside, Miss Cortazzo,” replied the young man, with a trace of shyness in his smile. He opened the door for them. “Monty’s doesn’t really get busy until later.”
“Maybe we’ll stay all night!” she cried, sashaying through the teepee-shaped doorway of Monty’s Midnight Saloon.
“Who was that?” Hank asked, momentarily blinded when they plunged into a dazzling display of flashing disco lights.
“One of Twilight’s former models. Isn’t he sweet? Delbert was in our pet-look-alike calendar.”
“What was his pet? An elephant?”
“No, a rottweiler puppy. They were adorable together. How about a drink?”
Hank followed Carly into the nightspot, taking notice of the neon lights shaped like bucking broncos and howling coyotes. Wailing country music rent the air. A few brightly clad patrons were dancing on a shiny floor strewn with peanut shells. Delbert was right. There was plenty of room inside.
The waitresses who circulated among the small tables were dressed in Native American costumes, but Hank didn’t recognize the tribe. He doubted that any self-respecting Sioux could have survived a single winter in such short skirts.
The bartender was a John Wayne look-alike. He leaned down and said in a Duke-like drawl, “Howdy, pilgrims. Are you parched?”
“What?”
Carly nudged Hank with her elbow. “He wants to know if we’d like a drink.”
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